


A Helping Hand

by mia221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adultery, Angst, Children, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, Family, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Overdosing, Sherstrade, dad greg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-07-27 04:47:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7603987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia221b/pseuds/mia221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of snapshots into the lives of Sherlock Holmes and Greg Lestrade from their first meeting in a drug den to the rather unexpected growth of a relationship as the years progress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just One Night

_22nd February 2000  
12.47am_

Why Greg had agreed to do this, he had no idea. He wasn’t even scheduled to be on duty right now, but being the absolute fucking saint he was, had volunteered to go and follow up on a lead that one of his co-workers had found and had conveniently gone and gotten ill before he’d had chance to sort it. But Greg liked the constable, and volunteered. Not like he had anything better to do with his night. Working in narcotics was a hassle most of the time, and Greg wanted nothing more than to be transferred to the homicide division. It sounded far more interesting, and more of what he’d had in mind since he was a kid, growing up with dreams of being a police officer solving murders, saving people, making London a better place. Following in the footsteps of his father. 

But right now he was trudging through the rain at nearly one in the morning, on his way to infiltrate a drug den. His partner Donovan had refused to go out in the rain and had stayed in the car, telling Greg to call her for backup if he needed it. He was lucky enough she’d agreed to come with him anyway. He hoped that if (when) he transferred to homicide, she would come with him. She was a good partner, and he appreciated her humour most of the time. 

But he didn’t appreciate her right now, leaving him all on his own to go and bust this place. He’d handle it though, he always did. Even in shoes that squelched, an uncomfortable hat, and his heavy overcoat. God, he couldn’t wait to get home for a hot shower. Wandering down the alley beside the address of the den, he kept a careful eye out for anyone, he wasn’t exactly undercover and if any junkies saw him, he didn’t think they’d go easy on him. He found a side door, kicking it down with a little force. He took the torch off his belt, immediately switching it on as he stepped inside. The hall he was in was empty, he couldn’t hear any movement in the whole place. He knew he had to scope it all out though, check for any dealers or particularly threatening junkies that they’d have to take in. He quickly took a look in all the rooms downstairs, poking his head around each door, finding nothing but the remnants of life. Dirty syringes, sleeping bags, odd socks, bottles. Seemed like the place had been evacuated. Probably knew that the police were coming. 

He kicked an empty can in frustration, the noise echoing through the empty rooms. Greg headed back out into the hall, ready to leave, irritated that he’d found absolutely bloody nothing when he heard movement from upstairs. He froze, listening for a moment until he heard a faint croak of, “Hello?”

Greg bounded up the stairs in a second, going to the source of the voice. The upstairs seemed empty too, apart from one skinny body curled up on a mattress. He walked forward slowly, crouching down beside the mattress. “Hey, hey, easy,” he murmured as the boy seemed to tense up, sitting up from his fetal position. “Easy, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m with the police.”

The boy wasn’t satisfied with that answer, trying to scramble away from him. “Get away from me,” he said, looking around, brow furrowing. “Where’s everyone else?”

Greg snorted. He obviously didn’t know anything. “Good question,” he muttered. “Listen, can you stand? I’ll take you to a cell for the night, give you some food, you can go in the morning, I promise.”

An even worse thing to say, apparently. The boy looked scared shitless at the thought of being locked up. “No, no, you can’t. He’ll find me. I don’t want him to find me again.”

Greg cocked his head. The kid was on the run, then. From who? “Who? Maybe I can help you.”

He scoffed and shook his head. “You can’t help me. No one can.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Come on, get up.” Greg grasped his arm, helping him up. He was a skinny thing, his clothes hanging off him. His curly hair was matted, there were dark circles under his eyes, it was obvious he’d been out here for a while. “What’s your name?”

“Sherlock.” Jesus, Greg couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Sherlock? What sort of name is that? Is it your actual name?”

Sherlock huffed in irritation. “Yes, actually. My middle name, but I go by it. We’ve established that I’m not going to a cell for the night, so what are you actually going to do with me?” He spoke quickly, erratically. He wasn’t high, Greg could see that, probably craving it. 

This was a bad idea, but he said it anyway. “Why don’t you come and kip on my couch for the night? You can have a shower, I’ll make you something hot to eat. No catch, I promise. One night, yeah? Just to help you out.”

Sherlock looked wary, his eyes narrowed. But he was obviously exhausted and hungry, and Greg hoped he would give in. Eventually he did, giving a reluctant nod. “Fine, one night. But no other police, no jail. You obviously don’t live in an expensive house so I doubt there are security cameras outside.” Sherlock moved over to pick up his backpack. 

Greg frowned, looking a bit affronted. “Obviously? Thanks mate,” he said sarcastically. “But no. No security cameras. Why?”

Sherlock straightened up, looking Greg in the eye. “The man who’s after me has access to those things. Pesky way to find me, I have to stay out of sight.”

Greg stared at him, a small frown creasing his brow. This kid actually believed someone was after him, then? Or was it just paranoia caused by drugs? Greg highly suspected the latter. “Right. Noted. We’ll stay out of the way of any cameras. Come on then, my partner’s out in the car, we’ll drop her off before going home.”

With the boy’s frail arm over his shoulders, Greg helped him back out of the building, down the alley, out to where they’d parked the car. From outside, he could feel Sally’s gaze on them. He helped Sherlock into the back before getting into the driver’s seat, meeting Sally’s expectant gaze. “I’m taking him home,” he told her as he started the engine.

She looked at him like he’d gone mental, and to be honest, he probably had. “Taking him home? To your house? Your wife’ll love that, taking in strays.” She looked back at Sherlock with a vague expression of distaste which Sherlock returned in kind. 

“Stop it, the both of you,” Greg sighed, looking back at Sherlock in the rear view mirror. “I’m just letting him stay the night, Sally. He’s got nothing on him. I can’t arrest him. Right?” He made eye contact with Sherlock in the mirror. He better bloody not have anything on him. 

The kid shook his head quickly. “I don’t have anything. I’d be in a much better mood if I did,” he rolled his eyes. 

Greg nodded. “Good.” He quickly explained to Sally the lack they’d found in the den, while he drove her back to her flat. As he pulled up outside, he glanced over at her as she spoke. 

“Don’t do anything stupid,” the woman said to him. 

Greg just gave her a lopsided smile. “I never do. Now piss off, we’re in early tomorrow.”

She stuck her middle finger up at him and got out of the car, and Greg watched her rush inside. There was a beat of silence before Sherlock spoke. “I don’t like her.”

Greg chuckled as he pulled off and drove back to his house. “Not many do. She’s alright, you’ve just gotta make her like you. Doughnuts and coffee are a good method.”

Sherlock scoffed in response, looking out of the window. “Your wife won’t mind you bringing me home then? Or your two children? Both daughters, I presume.”

Greg’s brow furrowed. “How’d you know that?”

“I deduced it. Don’t bother asking how, I’m far too tired to explain it to you right now.”

Greg rolled his eyes. “Alright, sorry. Just impressed, that’s all. Dunno how you could have worked it out. You’ll have to tell me later.” Sherlock gave him a non-committal hum in return and they lapsed into silence for the rest of the drive. 

When Greg pulled into the driveway, he heard a soft scoff from behind him. “Shut up, you,” he said before Sherlock could even comment. “I just pulled you out of a drug den, be grateful.”

That did get him to shut up, and Greg helped him up to the house. He unlocked the door and told Sherlock to be quiet, his family were probably sleeping. Greg took him into the living room, sitting him down. “Right, I’ll go put you something on, want a cuppa?”

Sherlock nodded, looking around the room, seeming to be taking everything in. “Milk, two sugars.”

Greg nodded and went through into the kitchen, flicking on the kettle and putting some bread into the toaster. He stifled a yawn, glancing round as his wife came in through the other door, sighing because he was far too tired to deal with her right now. 

“Who the hell is that?” Caroline hissed at him, arms folded over her dressing gown. 

Greg rubbed a hand over his forehead. “Just some kid I picked up. Calm down, alright? Please? I just said he could stay the night, I’d give him something hot to eat, and a shower. He’s homeless, love, you won’t even see him in the morning, I’ll take him back out with me when I go to work. Just go back to bed, I’ll be there soon.”

She didn’t look happy, giving him quite the glare before she turned round and went back upstairs. Greg rolled his eyes, glad she didn’t actually go and confront Sherlock. Greg didn’t want to scare him off. He felt weirdly protective over the spindly twenty-something, he thought as he buttered the boy’s toast, and made his tea. 

He carried it back out and sat beside him on the sofa, drinking his own brew. Sherlock nibbled on his toast for a moment, before looking at Greg. “Your wife isn’t happy I’m here.”

“Yeah, well,” he chuckled dryly. “She’s not happy about much these days.”

Sherlock looked like he wanted to say something, but kept his lips firmly shut, and Greg didn’t think to press it. “You can shower now, or in the morning. Whichever.”

“You go to bed,” Sherlock waved him off. “I’ve kept you up long enough. Thank you…for this,” he nodded once, like he wasn’t used to being polite. 

Greg smiled and patted his leg, before getting up. “Cheers, Sherlock. And honestly, it’s no trouble. I’m glad to help.” He passed him some blankets from the basket and headed upstairs, poking his head into the girls’ room to check they were alright. Not a word was said between him and his wife as he got into bed, and despite the late hour, he lay awake for a while. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about Sherlock, downstairs. He’d known so much, he seemed bright, from a good background judging by his accent. But someone seemed to be looking for him, someone Sherlock wanted to avoid. Greg would help, if Sherlock let him. He didn’t want him back out on the streets, shooting up. He felt some sort of duty over him, he wanted to protect him, make sure he was alright. God, when did he become such a sap?

Eventually Greg fell asleep, and in the morning, his first thought was Sherlock. Caroline was still asleep and he pulled on his dressing gown, stifling a yawn as he headed downstairs. “Morning, Sherl-“ He stopped with a frown, the sofa was empty, blankets neatly folded on the corner of the sofa. He did a quick survey of the rooms downstairs, coming to a conclusion that he wasn’t there. A note, however, had been left on the counter by the door. In spidery handwriting, Sherlock had written: 

_Thanks for the sofa, best night’s sleep I’ve had in a while. Adam Johnson is the dealer you’re looking for, the head of the drug ring._

-SH

Having a hunch that it was right to trust Sherlock, he grinned while folding the note neatly in his pocket, texting Sally to see what they had on a certain Adam Johnson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be a multi-chaptered story that follows their lives and how they intertwine before the canon series begins, and as it goes on. Some things will differ slightly from how they are in the show, but I'm aiming to keep most things the same, apart from the added Sherstrade relationship as we go on! Rated Explicit for later chapters, and tags will be added as the story goes on.
> 
> Thank you to Jess and Jennifer for beta-ing! <3


	2. Don't be a Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months after their first meeting, Sherlock shows up just when Greg thought he might never see him again.

_10th May 2000_   
_4.49pm_

_You need to come home right now, Greg. That junkie you brought home ages ago has broken in and I’m one bloody deduction away from calling the police. CL_

_I’m on my way, just stay calm, alright? He won’t hurt you. Are the kids there? GL_

_Yes. He’s talking to them. I think they like him. CL_

_Good. I’ll be there soon. GL x_

To say Greg was surprised to see Sherlock on his couch again was an understatement. He’d not seen the man since that night he’d picked him up off the streets, months ago, and to be honest he was worried that he might have OD’ed. Even though he knew Caroline would be ridiculously angry with him for Sherlock showing, he was so relieved to see him again. Happy, even. 

He couldn’t hear much when he opened the door, but his wife stuck her head around the kitchen door. “I want him out,” she muttered, glaring at him. “Get him out, Greg.”

Greg nodded and went into the living room, and the sight that greeted him was not what he expected. 

Sherlock himself was sitting on the sofa, not looking much different than the last time Greg saw him. That was a bit disappointing, he was hoping that he might have gotten himself on his feet a little. Apparently not. His youngest daughter was on top of him, standing up on his thighs. She was only five, and fairly small, so Sherlock could easily support her with his hands on her waist. Maisie was chattering away at him, one hand in his hair and the other on his shoulder. She seemed to quite like his hair, pulling gently at the curls and making it go frizzy. Grace, who was a little older than Maisie at nine, was sitting on the floor by his feet, resting her forearms and chin on Sherlock’s knees. 

It was such a nice sight that Greg hardly wanted to interrupt. But the three heads turned towards him, and Maisie made an excited noise. “Papa! Have you met Sh…um, Sherl…Lock. You met Locky? He says you’re his friend!”

Greg moved over and sat down beside them on the sofa, brushing his hand through Grace’s hair when she moved over to hug his legs. “I am his friend, yeah. An old friend, I haven’t seen him in a while. Is he being nice to you?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course I am. I’ve been telling them about bees.”

Greg blinked at him. “Right. Great.” He stepped forward to pick Maisie up off Sherlock’s lap, wincing as she wailed in protest. “Come on, girls. Go in the kitchen and tell Mummy I said you can have some chocolate.” He ushered them away, shutting the door before he turned back to the man on his sofa. “What are you doing here, Sherlock?”  
Sitting beside him, he watched as the man beside him fidgeted, but didn’t speak. So Greg continued. “You broke in here, then? You can’t do that, my wife was going to call the police on you.”

That got a reaction, a scowl creased Sherlock’s brow. “I needed somewhere to go. I knew you’d help me, it’s not my fault she took offence,” he mumbled. 

“Why do you need somewhere to go?”

Sherlock hesitated before he answered. “I’m trying to get clean and it’s not exactly the easiest thing in the world when the only places I can find to sleep are drug dens or the streets.”

A grin broke out over Greg’s face and he pulled Sherlock into a tight hug before he even realised what he was doing. “You’re getting clean? That’s great! I’m so glad to hear that.”

Sherlock let out a soft ‘oof’ when he was pulled against Greg’s chest. It took him a moment to hug back, but he did, which Greg thought was a step forward. “Yes, I know. It’s fabulous,” he said sarcastically. “I’ve tried to stay away as much as I can but it just got too hard, I had no one else to go to.”

Greg rubbed his back, pulling back to look at Sherlock. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’ve got me, don’t feel like you’re completely alone, because you’re not, I promise. I’ll have a chat with Caroline, see if you can stay the night. Or as long as you want. You’ll be on the sofa but…it’s better than out there, right?”

He was answered with a nod, and Greg smiled. “Oh, I forgot to thank you for that tipoff about Johnson. We got the bastard, all thanks to you. How the hell did you know?”

Sherlock finally smiled back at him, eyes lighting up. “I deduced it. I’m a genius, you see, and with all the information I had from the case file you left, it was simple for me to work it out. With my inside knowledge too, it was child’s play.”

“A genius, huh? Want to look at some of my murder cases?” 

Sherlock’s eyes widened and god, if that didn’t warm Greg’s heart. He’d do anything to see him smile, make him happy. Sherlock didn’t deserve a life like this, he was brilliant, that was plain to see. “You got promoted, then. I knew you would. You’d really let me do that?”

“Cheers. And sure. I don’t have many leads on a couple of them, it would be really great if you could give me a hand,” he suggested, shifting over to open up his bag and pull out a few manila files. “Here. Take a look at these while I go negotiate the terms of you staying here with the boss of the house.” He smiled and stood up, ruffling Sherlock’s hair. He paused when he realised he’d just done that, but shook it off and just headed into the kitchen. 

The girls were soon sent back into the living room when Greg’s idea of a negotiation quickly ascended into an almost full blown argument between the married couple. Greg could see where she was coming from in not wanting Sherlock to stay here, but he was helping Greg out and Greg wanted to aid him in return. He wanted Sherlock to get off the drugs, get himself on his feet. He was so smart from what Greg had seen, and he wanted to help Sherlock live up to his full potential. 

Eventually, he managed to swing it so that Sherlock could stay the night, and Caroline was going to go out with her friends. She wasn’t telling him much, but he didn’t care. She’d be gone, he’d get some quality time with the girls, and maybe a few cases solved at the same time. 

He saw his wife off with an attempted kiss, which she brushed off, turning her head away. Still angry then. She always seemed to be angry at him, they hadn’t had sex in months. It was incredibly frustrating, but he’d just given up after a while. He forced away his feelings, though, putting a smile on his face as he returned to the other three. 

Once again, Maisie had settled herself on Sherlock, lying over his lap as Sherlock plaited her hair, reading the case files next to him, head craned away from the girl. Greg admired his skills, he’d always been shit with hair, and Sherlock could master a braid without even looking. Typical. Grace was peering over read some of the grisly details of the murder, and Greg swooped in, picking her up. “Oh no you don’t. Adult stuff. You get back to Harry Potter,” he sat down on the other side of Sherlock with Grace on his knee. 

Caroline didn’t return for hours, but Greg and Sherlock were sitting up anyway. They’d spent all evening with Grace and Maisie, watching a film while Sherlock and Greg discussed leads on cases. He was definitely going to become respected in his new position, and quickly, all thanks to Sherlock. 

He checked his watch again, for the fifth time in half an hour, and Sherlock huffed. “She won’t be back for hours,” he told him. The girls were in bed now, it was nearing eleven. How long could his wife stay out?

“Right. Of course you know that,” he rolled his eyes. 

“I could tell you what she’s doing, if you want. But you already know.”

Greg held his hand up, shaking his head. “Nope. It’s fine. I’m better not hearing it. I should be getting to bed, though. Gotta go and follow up all these leads in the morning,” he grinned. “Thank you, honestly.”

The boy shrugged in response. “It’s the least I can do in return for you letting me stay. I won’t show up often, promise. Just when things are getting bad.”

“Sherlock,” Greg said gently. “You’re always welcome here. Don’t listen to Caroline, you can always stay on our sofa if you need it.”

Greg moved to get up, but Sherlock grabbed his hand, lightening quick. “Greg, I…” He trailed off, hesitating. “Thank you. I don’t think I’d be here without you.”

It was heavy stuff, suggesting that. Greg didn’t like to think that he’d saved Sherlock or anything, he was only helping. Sherlock was saving himself, he was strong, he wasn’t a damsel in distress.

But Greg just squeezed his hand, smiling slightly. “S’alright, sunshine,” he said, before he reluctantly pulled away, going up to bed alone. 

Greg woke up when his wife returned and got into bed, jostling him. He rolled over, groaning softly. “What time is it?” He murmured, rubbing his eyes. 

“Go to sleep, Greg,” she said tiredly, lying on her back beside him. 

He looked at her for a moment, his nose wrinkling. She smelled like…not her perfume. “Caroline, you-“

“I said go to sleep.”

And that was definitely the end of it. He didn’t put up any more of a fight, just rolled over and they both slept back to back, which Greg reckoned said a lot about the state of their marriage. 

Sometimes he thought about bringing up the subject of a divorce, but he knew she’d get the girls, the house and everything else. She wouldn’t let him see Maisie or Grace, he’d have to find a new flat. And he loved her. Fuck, he did. Even though she hurt him every day, he couldn’t help but think back to the girl he fell in love with when he was twenty. She barely even smiled at him anymore. He often wondered what he’d done to fuck it all up. 

There were no words exchanged in the morning either, she went straight back to bed as soon as she’d dressed the girls and given them their breakfast. Greg couldn’t tell if it was to avoid Sherlock, or him. Probably both. 

This time though, Sherlock was still there in the morning. Maisie woke him up, as she gleefully recounted to her dad when he joined them, saying she’d been Locky’s alarm clock. It was so cute how both his kids had decided they absolutely adored Sherlock, and a relief for him. He couldn’t have stayed if the girls didn’t like him. But they seemed to have accepted him as a friend, as a part of their family. 

Greg offered him a lift back into central London on his way to the Yard so he could…go and do whatever he did during the day. Sherlock sat in the front seat with Maisie and Grace in the back as Greg drove them to school, telling them all about how he used to want to be a pirate. It was so fucking cute. 

As Greg pulled up at work with just Sherlock left in the car, he looked over at the younger man when he’d switched the engine off. “Don’t disappear again, yeah?” He said quietly. “I worried about you. A lot. Caroline’ll get over you being there sometimes, and the girls love you, that’s plain to see,” he smiled. “Don’t be a stranger, Sherlock.”

In response, he didn’t look like he really knew what to say, so Greg chuckled. “Just say thank you.”

Sherlock nodded, smiling and looking down. “Thank you, Greg.” He got out of the car before Greg could say anything else, and the policeman just sat and watched as the whirlwind that was Sherlock Holmes disappeared into the crowds of the busy London streets. Christ, Greg missed him already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Jess and Jennifer for beta-ing! <3


	3. Do Unchain Him

_2nd July 2000  
7.06pm_

To say Greg had been having a weird day would be an understatement. He’d had this hunch ever since he left this morning that something was up, like he was being watched. He couldn’t shake it, but he put it down to how wary he always was – the curse of being a policeman. But his day was packed as it always had been since he’d transferred to homicide, becoming a Detective Sergeant. 

The uneasy feeling had taken a back seat to the case he was working on, another one that he’d let Sherlock take a look at the last time he’d popped up on Greg’s sofa. He’d still not told anyone about that, figuring his superiors wouldn’t much like it if they knew he’d been consulting with an ex-junkie about their confidential homicide cases. He struggled over loose ends, no clear evidence, he knew he’d do far better if he could just sit and pick Sherlock’s brain. But he was becoming far too reliant on the man, and he couldn’t let that happen. Even if it was getting him pats on the back every time he came up with a new lead courtesy of Sherlock. 

He worked himself to the bone until he was kicked out by the cleaners at seven that evening, still not getting anywhere with this damn case. He resigned himself to heading home, taking the case file with him just on the off chance Sherlock had decided to grace them with his presence that night. He was the last one in the office, and he juggled with his coat and bag as he heard his phone go off in his pocket. He decided to ignore it until he got to the car though, supposing it would just be Sherlock or his wife. But as he left the Yard his phone went off again and he sighed, setting his bag down to check it just in case it was something important. It was an unknown number, and Greg frowned at the message:

_Get in the car, Lestrade._

He looked up, seeing a sleek black car with tinted windows pulling up at the side of the road in front of him. Greg was frowning, wondering what the hell was going on. But before he could do anything, a woman was getting out of the car. 

“Gregory Lestrade?” She said, not looking up from her phone. 

Greg folded his arms across his chest, looking wary. “Who’s asking?” This whole thing reeked of suspicion, and he didn’t like it. 

The woman’s lips quirked up in an amused smile, like she was mocking him. “Someone that you don’t want to make angry.” She turned to gesture to the car door. “Please, Detective.”

Greg just stared at her in disbelief for a moment before he chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, alright. You’re funny. I’m not a bloody idiot.” He shook his head and turned to walk away.

He heard her sigh behind him. “I did warn you,” she said, and he hardly registered what she’d said until his arm was being twisted painfully behind his back, rendering him still. He gasped in a mixture of shock and pain as the woman who he had quite a bit of height on snapped handcuffs around his wrists. “Sorry,” she smiled sweetly. “But my boss needs to have a word with you.”

Well Greg was not going to fucking go quietly. He started struggling and it was obvious that she wouldn’t be able to get him in the car, even with her skills in getting him handcuffed. But he’d failed to notice a man getting out of the car, the driver. He certainly did not have trouble in bundling Greg through the door, the woman following suit and sitting beside him. Greg was panting from his exertions trying to resist them, and he turned to stare at the woman who was still on her fucking phone. 

“Care to tell me what the hell is going on?” He snapped, giving up on struggling. The car was obviously too posh for him to break out, the doors probably locked automatically. So he just sat there. They had to let him out at some point, and he’d make a run for it then. 

“It’s nothing to worry about, Detective,” she said, the sound of her nails tapping at her phone accompanying her voice. “Just a little chat. Necessary I’m afraid. You’ll be returned home afterwards.”

“How reassuring,” he muttered and stared out of the window for the rest of the journey, trying to determine where they were going. 

An industrial estate was not what he was expecting, but then, he didn’t have a clue about who this lady’s boss was. He just hoped it wasn’t some drug lord who he’d tried to put away and was now seeking revenge. Christ, he was fucked. The car drove into some massive warehouse, illuminated by a few temporary lights around the room. If he squinted, he could see the outlined silhouette of a man in front of one of the lights, holding something. It was long, thin, he was leaning on it. A baseball bat maybe. This was definitely not just a chat. 

When the car stopped, the woman looked over at him with a smile. “Well, we’re here.” She got out of the car and grasped Greg’s elbow, helping him out with his balance seeing as his hands were still cuffed securely behind his back. She led him over to where the man was standing so that Greg could get a clearer look at the man he was meant to be meeting. 

He was tall, dressed in an impeccable suit and leaning on…thank god, an umbrella. His expression was bland, almost like he was bored, didn’t even want to be there. He straightened up as the woman led Greg over to stand in front of him, really he should have made a break for it, but he couldn’t help but be intrigued about what the hell this guy wanted him for. 

“Do unchain him, Anthea.” His bored tone matched his expression, and this Anthea unlocked the handcuffs, leaving Greg rubbing his wrists and glaring at her. “I must apologise about that, Gregory, but it was imperative that we meet. And you weren’t being very…cooperative.”

Greg snorted, folding his arms defensively across his chest. “Yeah, are you surprised? I’m supposed to just come quietly when I’m told to get into a car, and when I don’t I’m marched in there with a gun to the back of my head?!” He had meant it figuratively, but the look the man gave his assistant was funny all the same.   
“I didn’t use my gun, sir,” she said without looking up from her phone. It didn’t reassure Greg to know that she did in fact have one on her, by the wording of her answer. 

The posh git in front of him shook his head. “No matter. I’m here to talk about Sherlock Holmes.”

Things finally clicked into place in Greg’s mind. The way Sherlock would never come to the station, a crime scene, he’d avoid security cameras as much as possible, was always checking Greg’s house. He knew Sherlock was running from someone, he thought it would be some rogue dealer and Sherlock was just a bit paranoid. But meeting the man in front of him made him think it might be something bigger. 

“You’re the one he’s hiding from,” Greg accused, seeing the man’s badly hidden grimace. “Who are you?”

“Who I am is not important. You must know that I am not a danger to Sherlock, I’m rather an interested party.” His smile was bland, fake. 

Greg could barely suppress his snort at the entire situation. “Interested party? What the hell does that mean?”

“He might class me as an enemy. But I have no desire to harm him, in fact, I wish to help him. You’ve been a wonderful asset in that respect,” he said, getting a small, black notebook from his inner pocket. “He hasn’t bought drugs in a month. In the span of time you’ve known him, he’s stayed overnight in your residence eight times. Tell me, Lestrade, what exactly are your intentions?”

“I’m not telling you shit,” he said angry, feeling quite protective over Sherlock. “Kidnapping me and bringing me here, I could arrest you for that.”

The man only smiled. “I’d like to see you try. You won’t, you know you’re outnumbered here. You know I’m important, you’re not that stupid. Or I would like to hope. I have a few…notes on you here.” He flipped a few pages in his little book. “Married for sixteen years, two daughters, your wife has been cheating on you for several years now…”

If he was ever asked about this later, Greg wouldn’t even be able to recall a thought process before his fist collided with the man’s face, square in the nose. He didn’t say anything else, just turned and walked away, shaking his hand to try and chase away the dull pain in his knuckles. He strode right past Anthea, who had quite the shocked expression on her face, heard her rushing over to help her boss behind him. He had no idea who he’d just socked but he hoped his bloody nose was broken. 

*

Greg didn’t get home until late, having to navigate his way out of the industrial estate and back to civilization before he could hail a cab. He kept an eye out for that black car, damning himself for not taking the number plate before he was bundled in. He was still angry from it all, angry and fucking confused. He had a new respect for Sherlock now, the guy he was running from was intimidating, obviously had a far reach. Knew a lot about Greg that he shouldn’t. In hindsight maybe he shouldn’t have punched him, but the wanker deserved it. 

He shut the front door as quietly as he could, taking off his shoes and coat, stretching his arms above his head. The girls would be asleep by now, Caroline would probably be in bed too. Walking through the living room to get to the kitchen, he really should have expected the deep voice that rumbled behind him from the sofa. “Where have you been?”

Greg turned round to face Sherlock, sighing heavily. “Oh, I dunno. I just got kidnapped by your enemy and punched him in the face.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened, and he let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh. “You punched him? My god, I wish I could have seen that,” he grinned. 

Greg rolled his eyes. “Uh huh. Who is he?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sherlock replied, waving his hand flippantly. “Are you making tea?”

Greg folded his arms, not moving. “Fucking hell, Sherlock. Who did I just punch? Who kidnapped me?”

Sherlock sat tapping his fingers against the arm of the sofa, glaring up at him. “My brother. Probably not the best idea to assault him, seeing as he practically is the British government.”

“You what? Bollocks, how can one man be the British government?”

“Oh, I don’t know, but Mycroft makes it entirely possible. He knows I’m attached to you though, so he won’t send anyone to kill you. I’d never forgive him.”

“How reassuring,” he muttered. “I’m too tired for this. Tea?”

Sherlock answered with a nod and Greg disappeared to go through the motions of making tea for them both, and some toast too. When he sat back down next to him on the sofa, Greg dumped a case file into Sherlock’s lap. “Here’s some nighttime reading for you.”

The grin Sherlock gave him in return made Greg’s heart feel a little lighter, like this was all worth it. He ruffled Sherlock’s hair fondly. “Grace and Maisie alright?” He asked after his girls because Sherlock was more likely to have seen them tonight than him. 

While eating his toast and flipping through the file, he nodded. “Mm. Grace did a maths test today, she did very well. Only got one thing wrong because I taught her how to do division the other day. Maisie brought a painting home for your office, your wife got annoyed that it wasn’t for her.”

“Surprise surprise,” he rolled his eyes. “And what about you? How’s being clean going?”

“Unbelievably dull,” Sherlock sighed. “But I’m coping.”

“I’m proud of you, you know. I really am. You’re doing so well,” he smiled warmly. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled, the younger’s cheeks flushing a gentle pink. A few inappropriate thoughts flashed through Greg’s mind which he promptly pushed away. He put it all down to being depraved of sex, and he hadn’t been with a man since he was twenty. He missed it. 

“Right, I’m off to bed. Will I see you in the morning?” Greg got up, mug in hand. 

Sherlock shrugged. “Maybe. Probably not. I’ll leave the answer to the case on a post it note if I leave early.”

A small smile dragged up the corners of Greg’s lips, wondering how they’d gotten here. Sherlock helping him with his cases, teasing each other, being friends. It was refreshing, their little routine. And it made Greg feel so proud to see how well Sherlock was doing with staying off the drugs. “Well then, I’ll see you in the morning. Or the next time you break in.”

“Maybe you should just give me a key.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once again to Jess and Jennifer for encouragement and beta-ing!


	4. Hey, Sunshine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for the aftermath of drug abuse and hospitals.

_18th April 2001  
10.36am_

Things had been good, lately. 

Greg was really starting to make a name for himself with his breakthroughs in cases – most of which done with Sherlock’s aid. He wasn’t ashamed in asking for help, but still knew it was probably a bad idea to mention it to others, even Sally. So yeah, he was taking the credit at the moment. But as soon as he gained a bit more support, maybe a bit of a higher position, he’d find a way to get Sherlock in. So the others could appreciate him like Greg did. 

Sherlock was doing good too. Last time Greg saw him, he’d been fresh from a meeting with his arsehole of a brother, who still hadn’t apologised for kidnapping Greg. Then again, he’d not said sorry for socking him either. And he wasn’t planning on it. But the two brothers had seen each other, talked through their differences by the sounds of it. On seeing that Sherlock was clean, the elder offered to pay for a flat, to get Sherlock off the streets if he would accept the help. Greg had been nagging him for months, saying he needed his own place, as he’d been on Greg’s couch most nights of the week now. He didn’t mind, but it was certainly making things even more tense than usual with his wife. 

Greg hadn’t been round to Sherlock’s new flat yet, despite how much he kept asking to. He reasoned it was only fair, the amount of times Sherlock had been to his house. But bless him, the young man kept insisting he had to get things in order before he let Greg come over. 

Back in the office, paperwork was Greg’s least favourite aspect of cases, but it was an evil necessity. He and Sally were working on their respective parts in silence, sitting on their sides of the shared desk. Greg barely looked up when the phone between them rang, letting Sally answer it. 

“Oi, Greg,” she said, causing the man to look up. “It’s for you.”

Not being one to get many calls, he cocked his head in curiosity, raising his eyebrows at her as he held the phone to his ear. 

“Good afternoon, Lestrade.”

Oh, fucking hell. “Afternoon, Mr. Holmes. How’s the nose?”

“Fine.” Greg could practically hear Sherlock's brother bristling. “I’m calling you about quite an important…personal manner. It’s about Sherlock, I know the two of you are close and he would want you to know about this.”

Greg’s heart began thudding in his chest, panic rising. “Want me to know about what?” He said quickly. 

“He’s in the hospital, as a result of an overdose last night. He called an ambulance for himself, but was barely coherent by the time the paramedics arrived. He was found with a mixture of cocaine and heroin in his system, a deadly combination, but they’re doing all they can. I assumed you would like to see him.”

Greg swore he stopped breathing, before he jumped into action, pulling on his jacket, shutting the case files. “I’m on my way. Which hospital?” He said, murmuring something about a personal emergency to Sally. 

Mycroft explained where he was in a surprisingly calm voice, the exact opposite to what Greg was feeling. "Right. I'll be there in ten minutes." He slammed the phone down and was off out of the office before anyone could say a thing to him. 

He wasn’t usually an aggressive driver, but he beeped his horn four times on his journey. He was tense, worried, angry, guilty. There were so many emotions, he barely knew how to handle them. Sherlock had overdosed, he was in genuine danger. Heroin and cocaine too, he knew from his time in narcotics that it never ended well. Sherlock would be fucking lucky if he came out of this unscathed. 

Greg couldn’t understand why he’d done this. He was so angry, that Sherlock would risk himself, do something so stupid. He claimed to be such a genius, and he let this happen. He’d been doing so well, been clean for months. 

But the guilt soon began to set in. Was this his fault? He’d restricted how much Sherlock could stay on his sofa, was he shutting him out? Was the boy lonely? Fuck, he should have tried harder. He couldn’t believe Sherlock wouldn’t come to him if he felt like he needed to use. Surely he’d known Greg would help, he was there for him. He would have bloody done anything to keep Sherlock from going off the rails. But he’d failed him, this was his fault. 

He couldn’t get inside the hospital fast enough, not even bothering to ask at reception for Sherlock’s room. Luckily, Anthea was waiting for him just through the double doors, looking up from her phone as he pushed them open. “Lestrade,” she greeted with a nod. “Follow me.”

She walked quickly, the click of her heels on the pristine floor echoing in the hallway. It was quiet, eerily so, only a couple of nurses with clipboards walking about. When they rounded a corner, Greg set eyes on Mycroft Holmes pacing the corridor, umbrella in hand. He didn’t smile, what his stupid face did was probably considered more of a grimace. But given the circumstances, Greg wouldn’t hold it against him. “Sergeant,” he nodded. 

“Holmes,” Greg said, leaning on the wall to stop himself fidgeting. “He in there?” He jerked his head towards the door. 

“Yes. The doctors are just checking over him. He’s awake and stable, they said we can go in and see him once they are done.”

Greg nodded once and didn’t say anything else, tapping his fingers impatiently against his thighs. He knew it must be serious, Anthea wasn’t even on her phone. She stood beside her boss, and they talked quietly between themselves. Greg wasn’t interested in listening, it looked private. Definitely something going on there, he reckoned. 

They all straightened up when the door opened, three hopeful heads turning towards the doctor in the doorway. His face was set in a grim expression, but he nodded. “He’ll be alright.”

Greg felt like he could finally breathe again, relief washing over him like a fucking tsunami. The doctor discussed a few technical details with Mycroft that Greg didn’t understand, but he didn’t care, just pushing past the man to go and see Sherlock for himself. 

Seeing Sherlock turn his head weakly to look at him damn near broke Greg’s heart. “Hey, sunshine…” He said softly, going to sit in the chair by the side of his bed. Before he could say much though, Mycroft and Anthea came through the door. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” Mycroft said in a quiet, yet angry voice. The way his jaw set showed he was suppressing quite a bit of rage. 

Greg didn’t think he’d ever seen Sherlock look so small and afraid. He automatically reached up to hold Sherlock’s hand gently where it lay limp by his side. 

The frail boy gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“You almost died,” Mycroft hissed. “You are so selfish, William. Didn’t you think of what that would do to me, to Mummy, to father?”

Well, Greg wasn’t fucking standing for that. “Hey,” he said firmly, straightening up. “I think you need to go outside and calm down a bit. Let him recover, god, give him a lecture when he’s feeling better.”

He thought for a minute that a vein might actually pop out of the posh twat’s forehead, but Anthea gently grasped his elbow. “Come on, Myc.” She tugged him away, and Greg did marvel for a second at how much influence she had over him. Definitely together. 

There was a moment of silence as they left, closing the door behind them. Greg leaned forward, trying to catch Sherlock’s attention yet he was still staring at the door. “Sherlock?” He said quietly. “Look at me, it’s okay.”

Slowly, the younger turned his head, and Greg figured his approach was good. He was treating him like a skittish animal, not wanting to scare him off. “I’m so sorry,” Sherlock whispered. His voice was croaky and quiet, Greg guessed he’d had his stomach pumped. Not a pleasant procedure from what he’d heard. 

“What are you sorry about?” He smiled, squeezing his hand which he still had a hold of. “So you slipped up. We all do. I don’t blame you for it, and I’m not angry. I promise. You called the ambulance for yourself, that’s good. You knew that you needed help. It takes a strong person to recognise that.”

Sherlock’s eyes looked a little teary but Greg didn’t comment. “Really?”

“Mmhm,” Greg nodded, resisting the urge to kiss Sherlock’s hand. “It really does. You’re strong, Sherlock, I’ve seen it. I’m sorry I’ve not been there for you as much as I could have, but I promise I’ll be better, I’m going to help you more.”

They continued to talk for a while, Greg telling him all about a brand new case, even managing to make him smile a few times. The mention of a nice, grisly murder lifted Sherlock’s spirits, it seemed. 

But soon, Mycroft was back, this time with two others in tow. He looked considerably calmer now, lucky for him, because Greg would have punched him again. Happily. The two others looked almost elderly, rushing past Mycroft. 

“William!” The woman exclaimed, leaning down to hug him gently. “Oh my darling, we were so worried.”

Parents, must be. Greg had to do a double take. They looked so… normal, how the hell did they produce Sherlock and Mycroft?

“We’re so sorry we couldn’t get here earlier.” The man leaned down to rub Sherlock’s arm gently. “We had to drive up. Terrible traffic.”

His mother set her bag on his bed, producing an interesting multitude of things. She set down a carton of juice on the bedside table, a packet of custard creams, a card, and then she pulled out a stuffed bumblebee toy, placing it in her son’s hands. The way he looked down at it was so familiar, he was obviously comforted. Probably a childhood toy. It was adorable. 

So even if Mycroft was a complete tosser, at least Sherlock’s parents were decent, and obviously cared about him a hell of a lot. He was just ignored for a while as Sherlock’s parents fussed over him, which he was fine with. But eventually, his mother nudged Sherlock gently. 

“Lockie, who is your friend? Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, meaning he was feeling a bit more like himself, thank god. “Don’t be embarrassing, Mummy. This is Lestrade, he’s my friend.”

Greg’s heart swelled when he was called Sherlock’s friend, grinning proudly. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Holmes,” he leaned over Sherlock to shake her hand. 

“Oh, call me Violet, dear. I’m glad to hear William has a friend, I get awfully worried sometimes!”

“Well, I’m definitely William’s friend,” Greg grinned, using the name he’d only heard here. “I care about him a lot.”

Violet’s eyes gleamed as she smiled brightly. “You do? That’s wonderful. He’s a wonderful boy, isn’t he?”

“Mummy,” Sherlock groaned, cheeks flushing red. “Lestrade, I need a coffee. Go get me a coffee.”

Greg grinned, patting his hand. “Yes, your highness. Nice meeting you, Violet.” He left the room, squeezing past Mycroft, Anthea and his father. Sherlock didn’t think he had anyone who cared about him, and look at all these people who were here, were so worried for him. 

The situation was very much the same by the time he returned with a coffee for Sherlock and his own almost empty. He’d been absolutely dying for one. Mycroft and Anthea had left, Sherlock’s father was dozing in one of the chairs, and Violet was still sitting beside Sherlock, stroking his hair as he slept. 

Greg gave her a brief smile as he set the coffee down on to the bedside table, sitting back in the chair. “He okay?” He asked her quietly, not wanting to wake either of the Holmes men. 

Violet nodded, still caressing Sherlock’s curls. “He’ll be alright, I think. Especially if he has a friend like you.”

Greg’s cheeks flushed and he looked down, smiling ever so slightly. “I think he’s brilliant, Mrs Ho-Violet. He deserves so much more than this, I just want to help him.”

“I know you do,” she smiled, like she knew some big secret Greg didn’t. “He’s very lucky to have you. And don’t doubt his feelings, will you? I know he has trouble showing it sometimes, but I can see it. He cares very deeply for you.”

He stared at her for a moment, trying to discern what she meant. “I…there’s nothing going on between us,” he said quickly. “I’m married.”

She nodded, still smiling. “I know, dear. And I’m not encouraging anything, simply telling you what I’ve worked out. You don’t think Sherlock and Mycroft got their brains from nowhere, did you?”

He laughed softly. “I should have known. You can do that deducing thing as well, then?”

“Of course, someone had to teach them,” she smiled back at him, and they both went silent for a moment, watching Sherlock. 

“I promise I’ll look after him,” Greg said quietly, after a long pause. “I’ll do whatever I can.”

He leaned forward to hold Sherlock’s hand, watching as his eyelashes fluttered against his pale cheeks, and he gripped Greg’s hand ever so slightly in his sleep.


	5. Grow Up and Let Me See

_22nd May 2003  
8.13pm_

Usually cases didn’t go this badly. It wasn’t a monumental fuck up, they’d caught the guy, but he’d not gone down without a fight. A fucking brutal fight, at that. He and Sherlock had sprinted across London (or what felt like it) after this murderer, as they’d been tailing him on their own. He’d told Sherlock it was a bad idea, but the man had insisted that the killer would get away if they waited for backup. And Greg being the absolute tosser he was, had agreed Sherlock’s crazy plan, like he always did. 

Unfortunately, their gallivanting ended in Greg’s broken nose, black eye, limp and quite a lot of bruising. The fucker didn’t want to admit he’d been caught, and because it was only the two of them, he thought they could be beaten. But Greg and Sherlock put up a fight, even if the younger didn’t bear more than a clean cut on one of those prominent cheekbones. Dick. 

But Greg had managed to plant his boot in the perp’s face, knocking him right out. Greg all but fell back on to the ground, leaning against the wall of the dingy alley they were in. He chucked his phone at Sherlock, knowing he’d catch it. “Call for backup,” he mumbled, scrubbing his hands over his face and wincing when they came back bloody. 

Sherlock seemed to hesitate before he called in, but Greg wasn’t concentrating on anything but cataloguing his own injuries. Sherlock murmured down the phone, Greg didn’t care what he was saying, it didn’t sound like an argument which was all he cared about. When he hung up, Greg glanced up, but Sherlock was crouching in front of him. “Stay still,” he murmured, brushing Greg’s hair off his forehead.

Greg blinked a few times, heart hammering. “What are you doing?”

“Checking your injuries, idiot,” Sherlock muttered, eyes scanning over Greg’s face. 

Oh, Christ, Sherlock was very close to him. He could feel the younger’s breath on his face, could see the flecks of jade in his pale blue eyes. One of those plump lips was pulled into his mouth as he concentrated, his long fingers gently caressing Greg’s cheek. Checking for injuries. Caressing. Same thing. 

And then Sherlock’s wandering hands ended up at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up. “Jesus!” Greg exclaimed, face burning red.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, sitting back on his heels. “Don’t be stupid, Lestrade, you obviously sustained injuries during that little brawl, I’m fairly sure he managed to kick you.”

“Yeah, but I think I’m completely fine checking my own injuries, thanks.”

“Nonsense. You took one course in first aid, you know the recovery position and how to put a plaster on,” Sherlock snapped. “Now let me see. I don’t know what your problem is. It’s not because I’m a man, because you’re bisexual, so grow up and let me see.”

Greg gaped at him, and in his surprise, he just let Sherlock unbutton his shirt. “How… how do you know about that?”

Sherlock snorted softly. “Please. It’s not hard. You gawk at men all the time, more than you do other women.”

“Hey! I’d never cheat!”

“I know that, doesn’t mean you don’t look.”

Bollocks, had Sherlock noticed Greg looking at him? He probably bloody had. “Right. Well. Not a problem with that, is there?”

“Of course not,” Sherlock replied, looking at him as he replaced Greg’s shirt. 

“Good,” he nodded once and they stared at one another for a moment more before Greg cleared his throat and got to his feet, wincing. He moved over to the unconscious criminal and crouched down, snapping his handcuffs around the man’s wrists. 

“Backup should be here in a minute,” he told Sherlock. “Thank you for the lead, and helping me catch him. You know, you could actually start working for us.”

Sherlock smirked slightly and shrugged. “Oh no, I much prefer it when you’re crawling to me desperate for answers than me being at your beck and call.”

“Sadist,” Greg muttered, rolling his shoulder back, expression twisting a little in pain. 

Sherlock’s own face softened slightly. “Now, if I were a sadist would I offer for you to come back to my flat where I have a full first aid kit? You’ve got a couple of bandages at home at best.”

Greg blinked, a little surprised Sherlock would offer that. “Yeah, that would be great, thank you.”

“And your wife would have no sympathy for you.”

“Well I doubt you’ve got much more.”

“Fair point.”

 

* 

The rest of their evening went fairly smoothly, Sally bringing in a team to take the guy to the station so Greg could go home. He refused her offer to be driven to A&E, even though he knew it was pretty weird that he was letting Sherlock take him back to his place and patch him up there. He’d only been to the man’s flat a handful of times, most of them in the dead of night to check up on him, or on Mycroft bloody Holmes’ orders if the man got suspicious his brother was back on drugs. He’d had to threaten Greg a fair few times before he managed to get him to do his bidding. Greg had to give it to him, he was persistent. 

So being invited to Sherlock’s place was quite an honour. It did make the most sense anyway, it was far closer than Greg’s house, and he hadn’t brought his car. So they walked over – well Greg hobbled, much to Sherlock’s amusement – to Montague Street. It wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t awful. It would probably look a lot better if Sherlock tidied up once in a while. The kitchen was littered with chemistry equipment, half-finished experiments on various things. The small living room was overflowing with books and papers, and a music stand stuffed with sheet music. 

Sherlock excused himself to go and get the first aid kit, and Greg wandered over to the music. He spotted the instrument, eyebrows raising. “You play the violin?”

When Sherlock returned his cheeks were a little pink, and he had that irritated look on his face. “Yes. So what?”

Greg shrugged, smiling. “Nothing. I think it’s cool. Makes you seem more human.”

The man gave him an odd look, but Greg supposed it had been a weird thing to say. He shrugged it off though and went to sit on the sofa, letting Sherlock treat him. He cleaned his wounds in silence, and it was an unexpectedly intimate moment. They were close again, and Greg found himself cataloguing every feature. Sherlock probably knew exactly what he was doing, and how attractive he thought Sherlock was. But he couldn’t bring himself to care. It wasn’t like anything would ever come of it. 

“There,” Sherlock said quietly, jolting Greg from his inner turmoil. “Done.” He finished with a gentle wipe over Greg’s brow. But he stayed there for a split second too long, and Greg’s eyes darted towards those lips. 

But the moment was gone when Sherlock pulled away, wiping his hands. “It’s late, you can stay here tonight, if you want. You be on my sofa for a change.”

“As long as none of the stuff working up fumes in the kitchen is poisonous, I’m sure I can stay tonight. Got any pyjamas that’ll fit me, skin’n’bones?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, putting away his first aid kit in the cupboard. “They’ll be tight, but too long on you,” he smirked triumphantly over at him. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re freakishly tall, I get it.”

Greg toed off his shoes, gingerly touching the bandage on his head while Sherlock disappeared off into the bedroom to find him something to sleep in. It felt like some new step in their relationship, the tables had turned now Sherlock was looking after him. It felt nice, for once, to be cared for rather than doing the caring.   
But his pleasant thoughts were soon dashed when a heap of clothes hit him in the face. “There,” Sherlock said, and Greg could hear the laughter in his voice. 

“Wow, thank you, you’re the most hospitable of hosts,” Greg snorted and stood up, watching Sherlock as he hovered around, not really doing anything. “Are you off to bed then?”

“Me? No. Too much to do.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Greg raised one eyebrow in his direction. 

“My experiments, obviously. And I slept the other day.”

Greg sighed heavily. “You’re supposed to sleep every night, you know? But fine. This is your place, do what you like.” He got changed right there, feeling Sherlock’s eyes on him. He ignored it though. He was a grown man, he could get changed in front of Sherlock. 

Soon he was settled in on the other man’s sofa, which was a damn sight comfier than his. Sherlock had piled a few blankets on top of him, saying he didn’t want Greg to get cold. He was kind of sweet, in a flustered sort of way. Greg huddled underneath one of the blankets, resting one arm behind his head as he watched Sherlock. 

The man settled on one of the stools in the kitchen, perching in front of a microscope. He began to work, and soon looked completely engrossed in it all. It was fascinating to watch him, but therapeutic too, and relaxing. Because soon enough, Greg had dropped off to sleep and was snoring softly on the couch. 

He woke up in the morning to Sherlock hovering over him, thrusting his phone in his face. “It won’t stop ringing,” he said. Greg grabbed the phone, sighing and answering it. Predictably, it was his wife asking where he’d been all night. Well, yelling. She was yelling. 

It was far too early for this, but Greg endured it anyway, telling her he’d stayed at Sherlock’s after a bad case. That didn’t get a good reaction, she absolutely hated Sherlock for some unknown reason. But he said he’d make it up to her tonight, cook her something nice. Not that she was bothered at all. 

Sherlock was watching him with concern when he hung up, shifting a bit in his seat. “Sherlock,” he said firmly. “Did you get any sleep?”

In Sherlock’s defence, he did look guilty. “No. I was working.”

Greg sighed. “Uh huh. You’re not coming into the Yard today, do you hear me? Get some sleep during the day, and you can come in tomorrow,” he promised. 

Sherlock looked like he was about to argue, but Greg put his hand up to stop him. “No. You need to get some sleep. I’m banning you until tomorrow.”

That shut him up, and Greg didn’t even get a rude reply as he went to get ready, knowing he needed to nip home before he went into work. As he was getting ready to leave, Sherlock came over to replace the dressings on his head. “Thank you, for all this,” he said softly. “Looking after me.”

“Well, it’s the least I could do to repay you. You’ve done a lot of looking after for me in the past,” Sherlock looked at him. 

Greg licked his lips subconsciously as Sherlock’s hands dropped from his head, resting instead on his shoulders. Neither one said anything for a moment, they just stared. They began drifting closer and Greg panicked a bit, pulling away. 

He cleared his throat. “Right. I’d better be off.” He ducked out of the door before Sherlock could reply. That had been close. Way too close. He shouldn’t have let that even happen. It wasn’t fair on Sherlock, wasn’t fair on Caroline as loveless as their marriage was. At least they didn’t actually kiss. 

But how could he deny the feelings that had gripped his heart as he stood there staring at Sherlock? It was inappropriate, they worked together, he was married, Sherlock was so much younger. But he couldn’t ignore it anymore, something had to be done. 

He decided that right there and then as he stood outside Sherlock’s block of flats, just looking upwards, that he had to sort this out. Somehow.


	6. You Can't Let Her Win

_2nd November 2005  
9.46pm_

Sherlock was going to absolutely rip him apart. He’d been hinting at this for years, muttering comments that he thought Greg couldn’t hear – or in hindsight maybe he wanted him to hear them. Digs at his wife, how she stayed out late, how downright bloody awful she was to Greg. But he put up with it, of course he did. They were married, couples argued, went through rough patches. 

But this rough patch had gone on for far too long, Greg’s whole life felt like a ticking time bomb. The only solace he got was the time spent with Sherlock. It was still mostly work related, but sometimes they just ‘hung out’ for want of a better phrase. Greg watched TV while Sherlock read, or made notes in a battered book, or did an experiment. It was nice, he found himself often skipping out on social events at work to spend more time with Sherlock. He didn’t like to dwell on whatever that meant. 

But concerning his wife, there was the odd comment that Greg ignored, he couldn’t throw away twenty-one years of marriage over suspicions. Solid proof however, that was different. 

It was close to their anniversary, but seeing as it was in the middle of the week, they’d decided to have a nice quiet meal on Friday night. Greg was going to cook, and he’d pray to God that they’d get along. So when he had to phone her at 5 o’clock saying they had a tough case on and he couldn’t make it, he expected shouting. 

When all he got was an uninterested ‘okay, fine, see you tomorrow’ he was a bit perplexed. But he brushed it off, maybe she wasn’t that bothered, they could always reschedule. The kids had gone to stay with Caroline’s mum for the night and he was sure they could beg for another night off next week.

After a few hours, Sally took pity on him and sent him home with the promise to ring him if they had any breakthroughs. He thanked her, and called at the petrol station on the way home to get some apology flowers. He was going to ace this whole husband thing, maybe they could order takeaway and watch a film instead. 

But she was nowhere to be found downstairs when Greg peeked round each door, so he set the flowers down in the sink, filling it with a bit of water. He didn’t bother shouting in case she was asleep, just jogged upstairs as he hummed to himself. He stopped abruptly with his foot on the last stair as he heard something, brow furrowing. 

Maybe she was…watching loud porn or something. 

His heart was thumping in his chest as his fist closed around the door handle, and he flung it open without giving himself too much time to think about it. He assessed the situation for about two seconds before gritting his teeth and muttering, “Get out” at the man fucking his wife.

Greg stood there in the doorway while he scrambled to put his clothes on, rushing past him as Greg fought the urge not to hit him. The fucking woman herself was reclining on their bed like she didn’t have a damn care in the world, the sheets pooled round her waist. Greg just stared at her, unable to even find words. 

That seemed to irritate her though, and she snapped, “What? Come on, when was the last time we shagged? And don’t say last month because neither of us enjoyed that, you couldn’t even get it up.”

His cheeks flushed an angry shade of red and he took a step forward, finally finding his voice. “How could you? We’re _married_. We have kids, doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Caroline rolled her eyes, and lit up a cigarette. It made Greg’s fingers twitch, they were both trying to fucking stop. “I need some passion, Greg,” she sighed heavily. “Passion you don’t have in you anymore. I don’t even recognise you, you’re a different man to the one I married.”

“That’s ridiculous! I’ve grown up, you should bloody try it!”

She was quiet for a few long seconds. “Is this going to cause any issues, Gregory?” He bristled when she used his full name. “Because if it does, if you try and leave me, I will take you for every damn penny you have.”

“Maybe you should try fucking working for a day in your life,” he snarled. 

“Why do I need to when I have you? Greg, we’re meant to be together, you know that. And if you think any different, you can kiss goodbye to this house and to your kids,” her voice turned hard, cruel, and Greg could only stare at her for a moment. 

“You say I’ve changed?” He said quietly. “I’ve done nothing but let you manipulate me for twenty years, it stops now. I don’t want to be second choice, to be your source of fucking income and nothing else while you shag your mates. I want a divorce!”

The silence rang in their ears at the aftermath of his words. But he didn’t take them back, like she probably expected him to. She pursed her lips slowly, stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray. “You don’t want to do this. I’ve warned you. This will kill Maisie and Grace.”

That struck a chord with him, but he stood steadfast. “No. Us constantly arguing and not getting along will kill them. We can share custody and-“

She laughed sudden and loud, cutting him off. “Didn’t you hear what I said? One of my old uni friends is a lawyer, a good one too, I can make it so they don’t live with you. Maybe you can see them once a week, if I get a good deal out of it money-wise. Are you sure that’s what you want?”

She was manipulating him again; it was what she did best. But he couldn’t stand this anymore, he could see it was hurting his girls when they argued. They might…they might blame him for leaving but this was better than their parents tip toeing around each other. So his only response to her question was to haul the suitcase out from under the bed and empty his drawers and his side of the wardrobe into it. 

Caroline watched him silently, but Greg refused to look at her. He didn’t think he could. He angrily zipped up the suitcase, muttering, “I’ll be in touch” before he left the room. 

He grabbed a few more essentials from the bathroom and downstairs, his mind on autopilot. He didn’t even know where he was going, but he just knew he needed to leave. There was a Premier Inn a few miles away, maybe he could crash there for the night. But it seemed like a waste of fifty quid.

He drove out on to a quiet rode and just sat for a while, trying to think all this over and comprehend it in his mind. They were going to get a divorce. He knew there was no going back from this, it had been a long time coming, really. But his main worries were, where the fuck was he going to live, what the hell would happen to his kids, and how could he support them? He couldn’t lose them, they meant the world to him. 

Maisie was still only young, not even in high school yet. Grace…he would hope she’d understand but how could he turn her against her mother by telling her she’d cheated? He couldn’t do that. So they likely wouldn’t get any explanation as to why their father had packed up and left, or it would be a twisted one that Caroline would tell them.

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes to try and stop the flow of tears that he hadn’t even noticed had begun, lifting his head. He couldn’t sit out in his car all night, and he couldn’t afford a hotel. Even though he might laugh, he knew he could go to Sherlock.

*

But Greg was only met with a side of Sherlock that could only remind him of a skittish deer, wide eyes, slow movements, tentative glances. It was like the man didn’t know what to do with him. Well, he didn’t blame him. Your mate showing up with red eyes, a blotchy face and a suitcase wasn’t exactly a normal situation. 

Sherlock sat him down anyway, went and made tea – a miracle in itself – and gave him a blanket. It was the one he always used if he stayed here after a long night of working. Sherlock sat beside him and nudged the TV remote in his direction, so Greg took advantage and put an old episode of Mock the Week on in an attempt to cheer himself up. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Sherlock said after a good ten minutes of satire comedy. 

Greg took a contemplative sip of his tea. “I dunno. You’ll just say I told you so.”

“Well I should, because I did, many times, in fact I…” He trailed off when he looked at Greg, probably seeing how uncomfortable he was. “I’m not going to say it. Instead I’m going to say, um, don’t worry. It will all be…fine?” He narrowed his eyes a bit, squinting, as if he were checking it was the right thing to say.   
Despite everything, Greg chuckled, albeit a bit hoarsely. “Yeah. Thanks. She’s going to try and take the kids away from me, rob me for all I have too, I expect.”

Anger flashed in Sherlock’s eyes and he sat up. “But you’re a perfect father, she can’t do that! We’ll get you a lawyer, I’ll call Mycroft!” He went to reach for his phone, before Greg stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

“Sherlock, Sherlock, it’s fine,” he said firmly. “I’m doing okay. Don’t get worked up, nothing’s even happened yet.” He couldn’t believe he was consoling Sherlock when he was the one getting a bloody divorce, but it did do something to calm him down a little bit. 

Sherlock pursed his lips for a moment before settling back on the sofa, a lot closer now, leaning against Greg’s side. “Fine. But you can’t let her win,” he said seriously. “She’s awful, she’s done enough to you, don’t let her do this too.”

Greg blinked at him, nodding slowly. “Right. Yeah, okay, you’re right. I won’t stop fighting,” he promised. 

When they went silent Greg checked his phone, his heart sinking to see a few texts from Grace. 

_Dad where are u? Xx_

_Mum said you left, when are you coming back?_

_Maisie’s crying, what’s going on??_

“Fuck, I uh…gotta go make a phone call,” he stood up, swallowing thickly. “Mind if I go into your room? I have to beg for forgiveness.”

Sherlock nodded. “Of course. Tell them I say hi, won’t you?”

“Yeah, of course, they miss you,” Greg murmured before going into Sherlock’s bedroom. He shut the door and leaned back against it heavily, bracing himself for probably the most difficult conversation he was ever going to have, as he dialled Grace’s number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know in the show Greg's still with his wife in series 2, but I figured them splitting up now would fit my ideas better! Hope you enjoyed this chapter, thanks for reading <3


	7. You Make The Cutest Bee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some Halloween themed fluff because if the Halloween decorations are out in Disney World, it's officially that time of year for me. Enjoy!

_31st October 2008  
6.13pm_

As painful as the divorce had been, splitting up with Caroline had probably been the best decision for Greg to make. Sure, he was lucky if he even saw his kids once a week, and he was living in a shitty flat now because she got the house, but he was away from her, and that was what was important. 

Now he was free to…pursue his interests with other people. Yeah, he was free, but who wanted to shag a 45-year-old recently divorced guy? Not many people, he bet. Since the divorce he’d had a couple of flings with receptionists from work (far too young for him, but they didn’t seem to mind) and he’d even managed to shag one of the male constables. That had been a fun night, seeing as Greg hadn’t been with another bloke since before he got married of course.

But now he didn’t have any way of ignoring his feelings for Sherlock. And that’s what they were, he discovered, feelings. He thought he just cared about Sherlock, about his wellbeing, that he wasn’t on drugs, that he was doing okay. But it was more than that. On those rare occurrences he’d relapsed or generally just needed comforting, Greg found himself wanting to kiss his forehead, smooth his hair down, pull him close and hold him until he smiled again. 

Christ, he knew he was a romantic but Sherlock brought things out in him he didn’t even know existed. 

So when Sherlock showed up on his doorstep with a suitcase, Greg got flashbacks to when Sherlock had let him stay while he got on his feet after he left Caroline. He let him in without hesitation, Sherlock mumbling something about Mycroft cutting off funds because of the last time he relapsed. 

Mycroft was still a colossal dick in Greg’s opinion, that hadn’t changed at all. He should be supporting Sherlock, not chucking him out on the streets because of that power complex the bastard had. It was like he was punishing his little brother for being human. Knowing Mycroft, he probably was. 

So of course, Greg set up the spare room for him, and he was happy to have Sherlock there. It made cases easier, he didn’t have to seek him out or ring him, they could just chat about it over dinner. Everything was extremely domestic, and Greg quite liked it. It also gave him great pleasure to be making sure Sherlock had a regular eating and sleeping pattern. 

During his divorce with Caroline he’d managed to settle things that he could see the girls on weekends or one weekday. Work was usually mental during the week, so Saturdays and Sundays it was. Sherlock had only seen Maisie and Grace when they were young, as his ex-wife had stopped them from seeing him. She deemed Sherlock a bad influence which was ridiculous, he’d always been amazing with their daughters. 

But now they’d grown up, and Greg wasn’t sure how much they’d remember about him. Grace was seventeen now, Maisie thirteen and neither of them had seen Sherlock since they were kids. But they had no choice now, as Sherlock was Greg’s resident house guest, and the girls were coming over for Halloween. 

Greg had said that they didn’t need to, even though it was his night for them to stay at the flat, surely they’d have parties to go to or something. But both of them insisted they wanted to come over, eat some sweets and watch a couple of horror films. Well, Greg wasn’t going to protest. 

He gave Sherlock a quick pep talk before they arrived, instructing him not to say anything inappropriate to them, and nothing about cases, no matter how much they nagged him. He wanted to keep them away from his grisly work, as much as he could. He knew they liked the gory details though, but he was steadfast and wouldn’t give them to the girls. 

It was a flurry of hugs and noise when they arrived, both girls flinging their arms around their dad and expressing how glad they were to see him. He was just happy that they didn’t blame him for leaving their mum, and they held no hard feelings against him. In fact, Grace had told him a few weeks ago, how much happier they all were since he left. Even if they hated how Caroline was bringing a new boyfriend round every few weeks. Greg didn’t like that either, but it wasn’t his place to comment. 

Maisie’s voice broke through his thoughts as she exclaimed, “Oh my god, Sherlock?!” And suddenly she was hugging him too. Greg wished he’d had his phone out to take a picture of Sherlock’s horrified look over Maisie’s shoulder, but he slowly hugged her back, albeit a little awkwardly. “Yes. Hello. I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me.”

“Of course I do! You used to come and stay on our sofa all the time, plait my hair and help Grace with homework,” she said, pulling back from him, still with that large grin on her face. 

Sherlock blinked down at her, his own smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yes, I did.” Greg could have cried, the scene in front of him was so cute, but he had admin to do. 

“Right, since Sherlock’s now my temporary flatmate, I’ve got the airbed for you, May, don’t look at me like that…”

After sorting out sleeping arrangements, they made themselves comfortable in front of the TV. Greg was in his favourite spot between his two daughters on the couch, with Sherlock curled up on the armchair. Greg didn’t think he’d ever get over how fucking adorable Sherlock looked in his pyjamas. When he was working he was always dressed to impress in those shirts, the trousers, the scarf and the coat. It was his signature look, and it made an impression. But Greg liked this too, he looked softer, less hostile. In a t-shirt, pyjama bottoms and Greg’s dressing gown, he appeared completely at home. 

Normally Greg wouldn’t let Maisie watch horror films but it was Halloween, and she did beg him and say she totally wouldn’t get scared, and listed all the films she’d seen before. So he gave in, brought the bowl of sweets in from the kitchen, and put on one of his favourites, _Scream._

He thoroughly enjoyed it because it even had Sherlock guessing up until the last minute. It confused the consulting detective how the movie knew that it was a cliché slasher film and made fun of that, making the viewer suspect everyone before taking a surprise twist. Sherlock thought himself rather clever as he pointed out plot holes, only to be proven wrong. 

“Don’t pout, Sherlock, you hardly ever get it wrong in real life,” Greg snickered when the killer was revealed, and Sherlock’s prediction had been wrong. 

Maisie seemed to stick up for him though, nudging Sherlock’s arm with her foot where she could reach. “Don’t worry about it, ‘Lock, I thought it was him too.”

When the film ended, everyone started yawning, and Greg put on some quiz show while he disappeared into the kitchen to make hot chocolate for everyone. Grace came in to help him, silent for a while. 

“I’m glad you’re still friends with him, dad,” she smiled eventually, looking at him. 

“Yeah, me too,” Greg nodded. “He’s great. Not only is he the smartest man I’ve ever met, he’s actually one of the kindest, if you get past the stone cold front he puts up.”

Grace gave him a look as if she knew something he didn’t, but he didn’t comment. “He really likes you, I think. I mean, from what you’ve told us he doesn’t get on well with your team, or other people. But with you, everything just seems natural.”

Greg hummed, stirring the chocolate powder into the heated milk. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. I’ve not really seen him act the way he does around me with anyone else.” And what did that tell him? He didn’t know, he shouldn’t be reading into stuff like this. “I’m just his friend, and NA sponsor when he needs it,” he joked with a quiet chuckle. 

“Yeah, okay Dad,” Grace said, and the sarcastic undertone in his daughter’s voice hinted that she really didn’t believe him. But before he could argue his case, she’d taken two of the mugs and disappeared back through the door. He couldn’t let himself hope for anything, fancying Sherlock was wrong on so many levels. They worked together, for god’s sake, and he was so much younger than Greg. There was thirteen years between them, and Greg couldn’t imagine Sherlock ever going for _anyone_ , never mind him. 

The situation he returned to though was frankly adorable. His daughters and Sherlock were all sitting on the couch, showing each other pictures on their phones. As he drew closer he saw they were sharing Halloween costume photos from previous years. Greg nabbed Sherlock’s phone from his hand once he’d put the mugs down, grinning. 

“Sherlock, I never knew you were such a cute kid!” He exclaimed, staring down at the very young Sherlock, grinning at the camera with a bumblebee costume on. "You make the cutest bee!"

Sherlock all but growled as he tried to get the phone back. “You weren’t meant to see that! Mummy sent me it this morning, she’s been going through photo albums and being all nostalgic, I thought the girls might appreciate it.” 

In a bit of a childish mood, Greg held the phone out of his reach, until Maisie piped up with a cheeky smirk on her face. “Really? Because me and Grace dug out some photo albums too a few weeks ago and we found some pretty funny photos of dad.”

Greg’s smug smile dropped right off his face as he quickly went round the back of the sofa to see what they’d found. “Oh god, oh god no, I can’t believe we kept all these photos, I need to burn them.”

Maisie was gleefully showing Sherlock a whole album it seemed of Greg in his punk days, back when he and Caroline had first met. “Okay, fair play, here you go,” he grinned, shaking his head as he handed Sherlock his phone back. “We’ve both been embarrassed now, thank you for that,” he ruffled Maisie’s hair when he walked past. 

“Right, bedtime. I’m getting old and I need my beauty sleep,” he said, stretching his arms over his head. He got snorts from all three of the other occupants in the room and he laughed. “God, it’s like having three kids with you teaming up.”

But honestly, he was just glad Sherlock still got along so well with Grace and Maisie. In his head, he tried not to think about the reason why he was so glad, but he knew it was something to do with the fact that since his kids approved, he could pursue something with Sherlock. But it was ridiculous, and would never happen. 

He helped Maisie and Grace set up for bed there in the living room, before he wandered back to his own bedroom. He passed the spare room though, and couldn’t resist sticking his head in. “Hey,” he smiled, causing Sherlock to look up from his phone. “Don’t be looking at that all night, I need you well rested for breakfast tomorrow. I’m doing a Lestrade special.”

Sherlock was definitely trying to fight a smile, Greg could tell. “Dare I ask what that is?” He drawled. 

“It’s a surprise,” he grinned in return. “But it’ll definitely put some meat on your bones.” He was silent for a few seconds, before his smile turned gentler. “Thank you for tonight. You got on so well with the girls, they still love you, even if it has been ages.”

Sherlock’s expression turned bashful and he averted his eyes. “I enjoy their company very much. They’ve both grown up to be lovely young women.”

Greg just stared at him, overcome at times like these to just let a confession burst out of him, but he knew he couldn’t. “I’m sure they’d love to her that. Goodnight, then.” 

After Sherlock responded, he hovered in the doorway a moment longer before leaving and clicking the door shut behind him. He stood leaning against it, briefly closing his eyes. He couldn’t suppress his feelings much longer, he had to say something, and soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of fluff before we start getting into the heavy stuff next week, I'm finally getting on to where the series starts, so look forward to bringing John into this. Thanks for reading <3


	8. He's With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally introducing John into Sherlock and Greg's lives.

_2nd March 2010  
7.13pm_

The first time Greg saw John Watson, he thought it must have been some kind of joke. 

Sitting there in Sherlock’s new flat on his chair, Greg barely glanced at him. One of those private clients that sometimes contacted him. And Greg had a bit of a lot on his mind right now, with Sherlock being a prat about that texting thing during the press conference, and the fact that there were serial bloody suicides. 

In all the time Greg had known Sherlock, he’d not known about any other friends. He’d never met anyone from Sherlock’s life prior to him besides Mycroft, and he never saw evidence of anyone else in his various flats. It was weird to think that he had someone else besides Greg now. That probably made him selfish, but he couldn’t help his feelings. 

He did not expect to see the short blonde guy trailing behind Sherlock at the crime scene, leaning on a cane. When Sherlock told John to put on one of those horrific blue suits, Greg had to step in. “Who’s this?”

Sherlock barely even graced him with a look. “He’s with me.”

A muscle twitched in Greg’s jaw. “But who _is_ he?” He repeated, not satisfied with that answer.

“I said he’s with me.”

And that was all there was on the topic, apparently. After _years_ of Sherlock helping him on cases, he’d never brought anyone with him. At first Greg was suspicious, but he knew that Sherlock wouldn’t bring a dealer or just anyone to a crime scene. But that was why he was so concerned, who was this guy?

But he put that to the back of his mind, there was a dead woman upstairs, he could be jealous later. Because that was what it was, jealousy. He’d come to terms with the fact that he wanted Sherlock, in a more-than-a-friend-way. But he thought Sherlock would never reciprocate. He never had with anyone before, not when Greg had known him. But he shows up with this random guy, what is Greg supposed to think?

He had to keep his mouth shut though, as Sherlock examined the body. This was more familiar territory; he knew what Sherlock was doing now. And he’d find them the killer or… at least whatever was going on here with the not-suicides.

The three of them began to discuss what he’d deduced, but what Greg mainly cared about was that he’d revealed John was a ‘medical man.’ What did that mean? Sherlock had befriended a doctor? He didn’t understand. He tried to stop this random bloke going near the body but Sherlock made a valid point. “Wait, no, we have a whole team right outside.”

“They won’t work with me,” Sherlock said immediately. 

“I’m breaking every rule letting _you_ in here!” Greg shot back, a worry of his every single time he let Sherlock on to a crime scene. 

“Yes, because you need me.” Sherlock looked up so that their eyes met, and Greg stared back for a long moment. 

“Yes, I do. God help me,” he sighed, before waving this Doctor Watson guy ahead to examine the body. “Oh, do as he says. Help yourself.”

The rest of their encounter went unsurprisingly like the rest, Sherlock firing off deductions that made practically no sense to Greg. And he ran off after yelling something about a case, leaving this doctor guy standing next to him. They were done with the crime scene for the night, and Greg ended up taking off the stupid blue suit next to Dr. Watson. 

“You his mate, then?” Greg asked, unable to help himself as he snapped off his gloves. 

The bloke glanced up at him. “I just met him. John Watson.” He stuck his hand out to shake Greg’s. 

The DI shook it firmly, tilting his head. “You seemed pretty friendly with him.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure we’re moving in together.”

Greg’s eyes widened and he took a second to actually process it. “What, you’re going to live with him at Baker Street? He’s never had a flatmate before.”

John was quiet for a moment. “Maybe he’s struggling for money. I don’t know, you know him better than I do,” he shrugged and gave him a polite smile before stepping past Greg and going down the stairs. 

Greg leaned on the bannister at the top of the stairs, watching John. This was weird. Sherlock had never needed a flatmate, Mycroft had always funded his places. So either Sherlock suddenly got lonely, or Mycroft had withdrawn his financial help. If he’d been lonely, Greg would have moved in with him. Without a second thought, of course he would. He couldn’t imagine anything better than living with him. 

On second thoughts, he would have to live with these intense feelings for Sherlock, knowing they would never be returned. It would be painful, but he’d do anything to make sure Sherlock was okay. 

But apparently he wasn’t needed now this John character was in the picture. 

*

The case was a bloody whirlwind from start to finish. The drugs bust had been a pain, but he had to get further in this case and Sherlock was being a prat withholding evidence. Once he and John had realised that Sherlock had gone with the killer, John was off, but Greg had to do things by the book and get some backup. 

The whole time he was following protocol, the worry about Sherlock was tugging at the back of his mind. He was reckless, he’d do anything to catch the killer, Greg knew that. But then again, was there a time he wasn’t worrying about Sherlock? Nope. He was on Greg’s brain 24/7.

He had a lot of admin to do in regards to their now dead cabbie, but he managed to spare a few minutes to talk to Sherlock. 

“Why have I got this blanket? They keep putting this blanket on me.”

Greg snorted. “Yeah, it’s for shock.”

“I’m not in shock.”

“Yeah, but some of the guys want to take photographs.”

Greg watched Sherlock, shifting about on his feet a bit. The man gave him fuck all about the shooter, but Sherlock had to know who it was, yet his deductions trailed off when he began to tell him. That meant he knew but he just didn’t want Greg to know. And he couldn’t even grab Sherlock, he just had to tell him that he’d bring him back in tomorrow for questioning. 

Sherlock went straight over to grin and giggle with John, and Greg felt the hot curl of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. He ended up being approached by Mycroft, as if his day couldn’t get any worse. “Mr. Holmes. Of course you’re here.”

Mycroft’s smile was bland and impersonal, and Anthea was at his side as always. “Well, I like to keep up to date with my little brother’s escapades. Especially when he makes a new playmate.”

“Uh huh. You kidnap him too?”

Anthea snorted, giving away that she’d been paying attention even if she was on her phone. “Yes, actually,” Mycroft replied coldly. 

“Did he pass the ‘Sherlock’s new friend test’ too?” Greg rolled his eyes, done with this already. 

“He did,” Mycroft stared at Greg for a moment, the same way Sherlock did when he was deducing some dirt about him. “You’re not…jealous, are you, Detective Inspector?”

Greg had to take a very calming breath, a muscle clenching in his jaw. “Now why would you say that?”

Mycroft smirked a little and got out that little black notebook from in his coat. “Well, I have many reasons, which I note in here…”

Greg held a hand up to stop him. “Not right now, sorry. Got a murderer to bag up. Talk to me about your insane theories later.” And with that he walked off, locating Donovan to try and make some sense out of what had happened in there. And even though he tried not to think about Sherlock, he’d come to terms with the fact that it was impossible to get him out of his head a long time ago. 

*

The next day was equally as busy, filled with paperwork trying to make some sense out of the whole case, talking to the press about it, reassuring everyone the killer was dead. He’d not managed to get Sherlock in yet, god knows the man wouldn’t bloody come in even if Greg begged. So as soon as he finished for the day, he was driving over to Baker Street, hoping that John wasn’t in. 

Luckily for him, he wasn’t, back at his old flat collecting his things according to Mrs. Hudson. She told him to show himself up, he’d been here often enough. So he jogged up the stairs, heading into the flat that Sherlock had made his own. And it would now be someone else’s too. Greg tried not to sigh. “Alright,” he nodded at Sherlock who was at his desk on his laptop. 

Sherlock looked over, his expression conveying surprise for a moment, before it was quickly concealed. “Hello. What are you doing here?”

It did sting a little. Sure, maybe they hadn’t been as close recently as they used to be. Greg would admit they’d been drifting apart, but work was getting really demanding now, he had a new case every day, it felt like. He couldn’t exactly change that. He wanted to tell Sherlock that he was just here for a chat, but he guessed they didn’t do that sort of thing anymore. “Need to get your statement about yesterday, ask about the shooter.”

Sherlock’s face closed up immediately, and he looked back down at his screen. This was going to be hard then. He didn’t know why Sherlock was being so difficult. Maybe they’d talk about that later, then. He glanced around before sitting down on the sofa, stretching his back out. “So. Your new flatmate. John, right?”

Sherlock gave him a suspicious look, eyes narrowed. “Yes?”

Greg cleared his throat before continuing. “How’d you meet? I’ve not seen you around him before.” Or around anyone. 

“A mutual friend introduced us.” God, he was so cold it was like Greg didn’t even know him. 

“Right. You’re not, uh, dating then?” Greg asked, wincing as soon as he realised he’d said it. 

Sherlock’s look was positively withering. “No. If you’ve come here to ask inane questions I’ll politely just ask you to leave. Or not so politely.”

Greg was taken aback, rendered speechless for a moment. “Jesus, Sherlock. There’s no need to be such a prick about this. I’m _so_ sorry that I’m a bit concerned about this new friend, seeing as I’ve not seen you be this chummy with another person like this in all the time I’ve known you! I’m your friend, you know. Even though you probably don’t think I am. And I guess I’ve been distant lately, I’m sorry about that too. But I can’t help work, you of all people should understand that.”

Sherlock continued to stare at his computer screen and Greg thought it was a lost cause. He sighed and slammed down a folder he’d been carrying on to the coffee table. “Fill some of this in if you can be bothered, it would really help me out with wrapping up the case.”

He turned to leave, stuffing his hands in his pockets, when Sherlock’s voice stopped him. “Lestrade…” Greg slowly turned back round, a little hope in his eyes. “I’ll fill in the paperwork.”

Greg stared for another few moments at him, trying to work out what the hell the look in his eyes meant, but he couldn’t. “Thank you.” There was nothing else to say, things felt off between them, so Greg turned and headed down the stairs of 221, passing John of all people on his way out. 

There was a quiet greeting between them, and in the doorway, Greg stopped and turned to watch him disappear up the stairs and through the door. Talking began immediately, and Greg felt a painful pang of jealousy mixed with misery. That was supposed to be him. 

But he left and closed the door anyway, leaving Sherlock and John to get better acquainted with one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a lot planned for various points in the series, I'll be doing mostly unseen scenes from the show but probably adapting a few with my Sherstrade goggles on. Hope you all enjoyed jealous Greg, thanks for reading! <3


End file.
